only young and naive still
by childish bambino
Summary: Her friends' journeys went down a straighter, more predictable path. Sam's was a little...different. Twistier.
1. youngblood

setting: a little AU, as almost everything in the iCarly world excluding season 5 has happened, except Freddie ever dating Carly or Sam.

**a/n:** accompanying mix can be found at my blog, which can be found on my author's page.

we're only young and naïve still  
we require certain skills

"Benson, if you aren't in the car in two minutes, I swear I'm leaving you behind."

Freddie rolled his eyes, switching his phone to his other ear as he locked the door to his room. "Why are you in such a huge rush? It's only an hour-long drive to Tacoma and I'm pretty sure the city isn't going anywhere."

"Well it's an hour I have to spend with you, so get a move on!"

"I'm coming outside right now, just hang on a minute," Freddie huffed, hitching his backpack up higher as he jogged down the front steps of his dorm. "You can stop honking, I see you."

"Whatever, hurry up," Sam said, leaning over to open the passenger side door of her truck. "You're buying gas by the way. And let me tell you, Otis is thirsty." Sam patted the dashboard affectionately.

"I figured as much," Freddie said, hopping into the truck and slamming the door shut. "And I know I've said it before, but Otis is an awful name for a car."

Sam didn't even spare him a glance as she pulled away from Hansee Hall. "Are you gonna talk the whole way there or what? I have a headache and I don't want to have to kill you before Carly gets a chance to see you. She'd never forgive me."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the static of the radio's antenna trying to pick up a signal and the wind rustling a few loose papers the only noises in the car. Sam's hair whipped around like a physical representation of her annoyance with him. He thought it was funny, because normally, he wouldn't have to resort to searching for metaphors in her hair, seeing as she was always screaming and/or choke-holding him into submission when he irritated her. Maybe it was a sign that all of the recent changes in their lives had really affected her for the better.

Sam laid on her horn. "What the fu – hey, asshole! Try staying in your own lane! Jesus."

Well. So much for that theory.

* * *

About halfway to Tacoma, Freddie was bored. After trying to talk about a couple of the classes he was taking (and being brutally shut down by Sam), he'd played Angry Birds all the way through (again) and idly read through his old text messages and now he was really bored. He didn't dare speak, for fear of inciting Sam's wrath, so he fiddled with the radio in an attempt to find a station.

"You won't pick up anything, so don't bother." Freddie sat back with a sigh. "But, since I knew you'd end up griping about it, I got one of those adapter-thingies so you can plug in your PearPhone and play music. Check the glove compartment." Freddie opened the box and a stack of napkins, a few tampons and a small black cassette with an attached wire fell out.

He didn't know what to say, so he just plugged in the adapter and made a Genius playlist from a song he knew Sam didn't completely hate.


	2. animal

I'm not asleep  
I'm up for the fight  
into the magic

"It's really hot, I'm gonna go outside for some air," Sam yelled to Carly over the pounding bass. The house party they were at had a decent DJ, and good music could always put Sam in a better mood, but she'd had a long day at the froyo shop she worked at. A class of second graders came in for a field trip (to a hybrid frozen yogurt/classical music shop. Weird) and all of the hollering and running around had left Sam with a massive headache. Combine that with Freddie's _incessant_ yapping about his stupid computer classes on the drive up and Sam was surprised she'd even agreed to go to this dumb party.

But Carly missed them and wanted them to meet her new college friends, so of course Sam came.

She danced her way to the front porch, stepping over a passed out girl with a moustache drawn in permanent marker on her upper lip. Sam grinned at that, resisting the urge to add some artistic touches to it herself. She sat on the porch steps, letting the crisp autumn air cool her down. She'd only ever lived in Seattle, so the cold was more of a comfort to her than a burden. She liked it.

It was all she knew.

"Hey." Sam looked up to see her best friend smiling down at her, her normally well-kept dark hair sticking to her forehead from dance-sweat. Carly sat down next to Sam, bumping Sam's shoulder with her own. "I see you learned some new moves while I was gone."

"Yeah, mostly from Spencer. He's working on this performance art piece that involves Socko standing on his head while Spencer dances around him...it's kind of weird, even for your brother." Sam smiled, thinking of Spencer gyrating wildly while Socko nearly fainted from all the blood pooling in his head.

"Sounds like Spencer to me," Carly shrugged. "By the way, how's that whole 'living with my older brother but it isn't weird because we're basically sisters' thing going?"

"Pretty good. Me and Pam get along a lot better now that we only see each other twice a month, and I finally convinced Spencer to get an industrial freezer. That thing is seriously packed with meat, Carls, it's like a dream." It had been one of Sam's proudest moments, seeing that enormous fridge in the elevator while T-Bo, Spencer, and her cousin Garth, who she'd promised to supply with a fake passport in exchange for a little manual labor, struggling with the 500-pound appliance. "What about you? Making straight-A's and all that chizz?"

"Yes, actually," Carly said proudly, straightening a little and flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I'm hellbent on making the Dean's List this semester...that 4.0 is so close, I can almost taste it."

Sam made a face. "Ew, you know talking about GPO's and Craig's Lists give me hives."

Carly laughed. "Fine, let's see...my roommate is fully crazy, like Nora-and-her-parents-crazy. She only uses the bathroom with the lights off and never locks the door, so I walk in on her pretty much daily. And you remember that roommate questionnaire that I filled out when I signed up for housing? I specifically requested someone who was 'somewhat neat' and 'willing to keep shared living areas tidy.' The first time I pulled out my Swiffer Wet Jet, she had a full-on panic attack or something, almost like she thought I was going to kill her."

"Your roommate's messy and that puts her on the same level of crazy as Nora? Geez Carls, what's a girl gotta do to considered normal?" Sam grinned, reaching over to steal a gulp of Carly's drink. "I'm assuming that since you've been avoiding the subject of B-O-Y-S around our dear Fredward, the future Mr. Carly Shay's in your sights."

Carly blushed, her cheeks turning pinker than they already were from dancing. "I mean, it isn't a big deal or anything, but there's this one boy in my graphic design class, Drew, who's sweet, and cool and smart and really funny and hot. I mean, for real, hot, Sam. He's hot."

"Yeah, I get it, he's okay-looking, shut up!"

"No, Sam! He's _hot_. He's HOT. Not just cute or _okay_, _seriously hot_!"

"Carly, say he's 'hot' one more time and I'll _seriously kill you_," Sam growled, grappling with Carly and half-heartedly putting her in a headlock.

Carly screamed, trying to throw Sam off of her, which she really should have realized was a futile effort. They tumbled from the porch, landing in the grass unceremoniously. A few of the partygoers who were spread out on the lawn catcalled, yelling for the brunette one to "break that blonde bitch's face" and other helpful instructions. Sam finally flopped on top of Carly, gasping for breath. Sam rolled off her and the pair lay in the dirt, clutching each other and laughing hysterically; as soon as the drunk teens realized that Sam and Carly weren't really fighting, they collectively groaned, going back to their beer pong and pot. Carly and Sam laid in the grass until their giggles subsided, watching their breath fade into the starry sky. Carly reached for Sam's hand, who allowed her to link their fingers together. They stayed like that for a long time.


	3. punchinginadream

wait, I don't ever wanna be here  
like punching in a dream breathing life into my nightmare

Freddie blinked into consciousness, trying his best to filter the glaring sunlight through his eyelashes. He had the beginnings of a killer headache, not to mention his air mattress had almost completely deflated overnight, which was unusual, considering he'd used it plenty of times before on camping trips and it normally held up just fine –

A loud snore and a hard kick to the face quickly solved the mystery of the flat mattress; a blonde demon was sprawled across half of it, her foot resting comfortably against his cheek. He sighed, shoving her leg away, and sat up. He checked his PearPhone for the time, noting that it was already noon. He had a massive project for his Intro to Software Engineering class that was due tomorrow, and he still needed to polish off the final product.

"Sam. Hey, Sam, wake up," Freddie whispered, lightly shaking Sam to try to rouse her. "Puckett. Puckett. WAKE UP." All that got him was an attempted kick in the face, which he narrowly dodged.

"I think you're fighting a losing battle, Freddie," a sleepy Carly mumbled, rolling over so that she faced the wall. "It's before two on a Sunday. You might want to try to let this one go."

A perfectly-timed snore from Sam seemed to end the discussion. Freddie shrugged. It wasn't like he needed to make too many adjustments to it, since he usually made corrections as he worked. It wouldn't kill his project if they left in a few more hours.

He laid back down, burrowing into the mattress. A foot with glossy black toenails settled next to his face. He smiled.

* * *

When Freddie came to again, his air mattress was completely flat, but there weren't any random appendages in his face, which was definitely a plus. His back hurt and he knew he should get up, but at the sound of Carly and Sam's hushed tones, he made a big show of groaning and yawning and rolling over so his back was to Carly's bed to "go back to sleep." And then he eavesdropped.

"Why not?" Carly was saying. "I mean, you guys live in the same city."

"I dunno. I guess he's busy with his computer stuff or whatever." Oh. So they were talking about him. "It's not like I'd have any free time to hang out with him anyway. Mama is in high demand. He's the one missing out."

"It's just weird. I thought it would be good for you, Freddie going to UW."

"Why? It's not like he went there for me or anything. Psycho's the one who forced him to apply, remember?" Oh, yes, Freddie remembered. And if UW hadn't been in his top five schools already, he would have been very upset with his mother. But, as it were, he'd been waitlisted at Stanford, rejected from MIT and chickened out of accepting either Texas A&M or NYU. He just couldn't go that far away from home so suddenly.

There was always grad school.

"But you two are still best friends. Ah, ah, don't interrupt me, Samantha!" Sam sputtered. "There's no use pretending otherwise. Besides, he's asleep." Freddie snored. "Now, you two are all that's left of the gang. And so help me, if you don't start acting like it, I'm going to...I'm going to...!" Carly paused. "I'm going to cancel your subscription to _The Meat Critique_."

Sam inhaled sharply. "You wouldn't."

"I would. You know I already think that you love that magazine more than you love me. Just give me a reason, Sam!" Sam grumbled a bit more, and when the conversation took a turn toward boys, Freddie tuned them out. He let Carly's words sink in, rolling them around in his brain and pondering the general meaning of life. He considered going back to sleep and taking a mini-nap, and closed his eyes. Thoughts of his unfinished project drifted into his head.

He was up in a flash. "Shit, Sam, we've gotta go!"


	4. lazyeye

I've been waiting  
I've been waiting for this moment all my life  
but it's not quite right

"Excuse me, ma'am? Excuse me?" Sam looked up from her magazine to see a frazzled-looking woman with three kids in tow. While two of the little gremlins chased each other around the empty store, screaming with delight, another had his entire arm in a dish of M&Ms. Joy. "Does the peanut butter yogurt have peanuts in it?"

Oh my god, does _peanut butter yogurt_ have _peanuts_ in it – "Yeah, that's kinda where it gets the peanut flavor from," Sam said slowly, rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to her magazine.

"I thought so, but when one of your little angels has a food allergy, it never hurts to be too safe!" The woman chirped happily. "Okay kiddos, who wants vanilla? You only get one topping, okay, and make sure you don't get too much yogurt – no, Brandon, that's entirely too much, sweetie. How in the world are you going to be able to finish all of that? You're so silly. Miss, is there a way that we can put the yogurt back in the machine?"

God. Sam's face was going to be permanently stuck in a look of irritation if she stayed at this job much longer.

The door to the shop swung open, and Sam's bitch face, if it was possible, got meaner. She viciously turned to glare at whoever had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I still can't get over seeing you in an apron, it's the funniest thing."

Ugh, the nerd was here, with _jokes_ no less. He'd been hanging around Carly's – well, her and Spencer's place a lot more than he used to, and now he was showing up at her job? She threw the finger at him, earning herself a gasp from Brandon. She stuck her tongue out at the twerp, and Brandon rewarded her with another gasp. "Benson. What are you doing here?"

"What, can't a man visit his dear friend at her place of employment every once in a while?"

"Yeah, a _man_ could. Again: what are you doing here?"

Freddie put a hand to his heart in mock hurt. "You wound me, Sam. But I know a great way for you to make it up to me – a lifetime supply of free frozen yogurt!"

Sam pretended to think. "Hmmm, how about an hour of free frozen yogurt –" Freddie looked incredulously excited for a second – "in exchange for eight boxes of Fat Cakes."

She could see him doing the calculations in his head. 52-cents per ounce of yogurt times a poor college student divided by eight $2.99 boxes of Fat Cakes – "I could work with that," he shrugged, grabbing a cup and proceeding to empty the entire batch of chocolate yogurt into it.

The woman with the goblin-children cleared her throat by the register. "You kids are so cute," she said with a conspiratorial wink. "How long have you two been dating?"

Sam was horrified. Luckily, Freddie was still dumping an obscene amount of toppings on his yogurt and didn't seem to be paying attention to her. "Lady, don't _even_. Just take your yogurt and go."

_People_ these days.


	5. shakeitoff

it's hard to dance with the devil on your back  
so shake him off

How many Red Bulls had he downed by now – five, six? He was still exhausted, wiping his face to try to clear some of the sleep from his eyes. College was going to kill him. He had no doubt in his brilliant little mind that he was going to fail, leaving the university no choice but to kick him out on the streets, and his mother would be so ashamed that she'd change her name and move across the world to escape from the embarrassment of the Benson name, and he'd end up begging on the streets, but no one would give him money because they'd know that he wasn't just a victim of heinous circumstances, but he was a _failure_. Fredward Benson, destroyed by a few measly midterms.

His phone rang. It was four in the morning; who the hell – "Hullo?" He half-whispered, disuse making his voice gruffer than normal.

There was a beat of background noise, before, "Benson? Why the hell are you awake?"

"_You_ called _me_, why are _you_ awake?" He shot back defensively, sobering up a bit to prepare himself for whatever deranged speech Sam was bound to make at this time of...night? Morning?

"Well, Mr. Nosey, I happen to be in the middle of having my ass handed to me in this intense game of laser tag, and I could really use some backup. Nuh-uh, pwnz0r, you are _not_ gonna get away from Mama this time."

Freddie held the phone away from his ear as Sam emitted a bloodcurdling scream. He shook his head to try to clear his head and make sense of what was happening. "Okay...so you called because you need my help?"

"Uh-huh."

"But you didn't think I'd answer?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Then why did you call?"

"Die, scum! Uh, because every other person I know is either asleep or wasted, and I knew there was an extremely slim chance that your nerdy butt would be awake doing homework. Besides, you're like the king of laser tag."

He looked at his phone. It had to be because of the lack of sleep, but Freddie was actually..._touched_. In Sam's time of need, a time that involved her playing a 100-man melee at a time that most businesses had long since closed their doors, she'd come to him. Fredward Benson. A man who might have been a failure in the eyes of his professors, but to one Samantha Puckett, he was the King of Laser Tag.

He glanced down at his textbook, whose print looked like a string of unreadable mush. "All right, MamaHAM. FredwardTheThird is on his way." A little study break wouldn't hurt. In fact, scientific studies showed that physical activity improved blood circulation, and at this point, he had nothing left to lose. A game or two of laser tag was just what the doctor ordered.

* * *

"Yippee-ki-yay, mother–!"

"SAM! The children!"

* * *

a/n: two (albeit short) chapters for your patience. :)


	6. floaton

don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy  
we'll all float on

"No way, Carls. Shut the hell up! No! I'm not listening, I put my phone down, lalalalala," Sam yelled into her phone, simultaneously appalled and captivated by the...well, appalling and captivating information her best friend was laying on her.

"Sam, chill! It's not a big deal, it's just..._sex_." Carly dissolved into giggles as she uttered the S-E-X word. Sam grimaced. For her, a girl who despised the word "panties," any euphemism for sex besides "doing it" was absolutely unacceptable.

"Okay, without going into all of the dirty details, what was it like? Did it hurt?"

"A little bit at first, yeah. We were kissing for a while, and he kept touching my boobs and I couldn't figure out how I felt about it, since we've only been dating for like a month, you know? But then he, like, tucked my hair behind my ear, and told me I was beautiful, and my heart got all stupid and fluttery and I don't know!" Carly squealed.

"Ugh, Carls, please, you're killing me here," Sam said, gagging a little at the thought of her best friend doing the horizontal tango. She shuddered. "Have you told Frednub yet?"

"God, no. Why would I do that?"

Sam wasn't exactly sure why she'd asked in the first place. "I don't know, I guess it just seems...appropriate, or something. He's our – _your_ best friend."

Sam could practically hear Carly smirking through the phone. "Yeah, I caught that. Freddie may be _our_ best friend, but I feel like it'd be weird. You know, what with his little crush when we were younger...plus he's a boy, and it'd be sort of weird to talk to him about it."

"But he's gotta know that you aren't going to be a virgin forever...oh my god, Carly, you aren't a virgin! Ewwww!" Sam buried her face in her pillow to stifle her screams. Carly just laughed.


	7. getsome

and 'cause I can, I'm gon' go west  
just like a man, I'm the fortress

"Listen, Gibs...I kind of have a personal question for you." Freddie fidgeted with his flash drive, an obvious sign of distress. He was currently Skyping with Gibby, something he didn't get to do as often now that they lived on opposite coasts. Gibby had gotten a full ride to Rhode Island School of Design. Who knew?

"All right, shoot. What's on your mind?"

"You and your girlfriend have been dating for...what, almost four years now?"

"Yep. Our anniversary will be over winter break, so I can come home and see her," Gibby said proudly.

"That's awesome, man, really. It's just...do you remember what it was like, asking her out and everything?"

Gibby tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Sort of. I mean, of course I remember our first date and everything...I was just so nervous when I was asking her out, you know? She was so pretty, and I couldn't keep a shirt on. It's all a blur." Gibby shot Freddie a sly look. "Why do you want to know, hmmm? Are you thinking of asking one of your computer girls out?"

Freddie's entire face flushed. "I was just, um, thinking that my first semester of college is almost over, and I haven't really dated, and I was brainstorming ways to try to fix that." The Galaxy Wars theme song suddenly interrupted their conversation. "Hang on a second, it's Sam. Hello, Sam? Nothing, just Skyping with Gibby. What's up? Nope, I haven't eaten yet. Yeah, sure, we could grab something to eat...and since you got paid today, does that mean you'll be paying for your own food?" Gibby snorted, which Freddie almost missed because Sam was howling with laughter. "Yeah, okay, I guess it was stupid of me to ask. Come pick me up in half an hour, I'll be ready then. Okay. See you later." He hung up.

"Freddie, man...your face is absolutely priceless right now. Gibby shook his head, a wistful smile on his face. "Ah, young love."

Freddie was confused. "What? It was just Sam. Don't be weird, Gibs. Well, any weirder than you already are."

"Ouch, Freddie! I know your girl's rubbing off on you, but you don't have to be so cruel!"

"Goodbye, Gibby," Freddie said loudly, effectively ending the call. He shut his laptop. That Gibby. Such a weirdo. Crazy. Positively bonkers.


	8. elephantgun

a/n: hiii there. there isn't really a good reason for why it took so long for me to get this chapter out, so i'll just say – it's twice as long as most of the others. so. yay for that! they'll probably be getting progressively longer from here on out. so yeah, thank you for your patience! and remember, a link to the mix is on my author's page.

* * *

let's take them down one by one  
we'll lay it down, it's not been found, it's not around

It was a cold and drizzly day, and Sam and Freddie were sitting at a table outside of Froyoma, wearing rainboots and sunglasses and eating frozen yogurt. For some reason, customers weren't lining the slushy streets of Seattle to eat ice cream. The coffee shop on the corner, however, seemed cozy as ever. Freddie said so to Sam.

"I don't even really get why people come to this stupid store anyway," she replied, eating a big spoonful of red velvet cake. "It's dumb. Nobody listens to classical music anymore."

"That isn't true," Freddie said in his usual 'I know everything in the entire universe' way. "A lot of modern forms of music borrow themes from classical pieces –"

"Who even asked you, shut up," Sam muttered under her breath, scraping the last bits of froyo onto her spoon.

Freddie gave her a look. "I bet if you gave it a chance, you'd like it."

"All right, what're you willing to lose?"

"What?"

Sam bent back the spoon and released, getting dark red specks on his white shirt. "If you think you can change my mind about the most boring music on the planet, what do you wanna bet me?"

Freddie thought about this for a long minute. "If you win...if you win, I'll shave my head."

Sam shook her head. "Nope. When I win, you're going to get your legs waxed."

"Why'd you tell me to pick a bet if you were just – nevermind." Freddie thought again, absently dotting the stains on his shirt with the Tide to Go pen that never left his front jean pocket. "Fine, then. If I win, I get to drive Otis."

Sam's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No."

Freddie smirked. "What's wrong? You're not afraid, are you?"

It was the oldest trick in the book, and Sam knew it, but she couldn't let the little nerd to question her fearlessness. It was a matter of pride.

* * *

"There are three pieces of music that you have to fully listen to. No complaining until the piece is over, and if you still completely hate classical music after all three, you can book the appointment at the salon of your choice."

"Already have," Sam said breezily, locking the front door (no one was coming in anyway) and settling into one of the purple plushy loveseats that decorated the store. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

Freddie put in the first disc and turned the speakers up. "All right, Sam, get ready to start loving classical music!"

Sam rolled her eyes, but said nothing. A piano began to play tentative little notes, so soft that Sam could barely hear it. It got a little louder and then quiet again, faster and then slower, and it took all of her willpower to keep her eyes open. The song ended with a tinkle of piano keys, and then there was blessed, blissful silence.

"So?"

Sam took a deep breath. "That was awful. Boring, and the guy playing seemed confused most of the time. Like, how could you think I'd like that?"

Freddie shrugged. "Fair enough. Okay, next one." He put in a new disc and turned down the sound a bit.

Sam decided she didn't mind this one as much. It was loud, which was an improvement. No more wussy piano playing – better. After the song was over, Freddie looked at her expectantly. "Not bad. Still boring."

"But you liked it a little bit?" Freddie said, his voice hitching annoyingly at the end. Sam guessed he thought he sounded cute or endearing, but really he sounded like a chipmunk who'd inhaled too much helium. She shrugged noncommittally. "All right, I saved the best for last anyway. Prepare to get your socks knocked off, Sam Puckett." He didn't even give her a chance to slip in a sarcastic remark, simply pressed play and cranked the speakers back up. Some little trumpet-things started softly, making Sam roll her eyes. They were fast and jittery. It got a little louder, then louder still, until finally a huge crash sounded through the store, rattling the pictures on the walls. The music slowed down and got a bit quieter, but not for long, and it got loud again and cymbals crashed and it just felt very _big_. And then, something that sounded like a tank exploding went off, and she thought she recognized this part from some cartoon (probably "Tom and Jerry" – she loved that dumb cat. Jerry was a dick). It made her feel like she'd just won an epic round of Call of Duty, like she should be taking a victory lap around the parking lot or something. And then there was silence, except for the yogurt machines churning, but Sam'd pretty much learned to tune that out.

And then _Freddie_, stupid, dumb, smug Fredward was smirking and looking at her expectantly. She tried to avoid his gaze, but she could see him out of the corner of her eye, and he was _definitely_ smirking at her. So, after a big sigh and pressing a distressed hand to her forehead, Sam squared her shoulders and said, quietly, "Not bad."

Freddie sauntered over from his place by the stereo, cupping a hand around his ear. Idiot. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Sam huffed. She could be the bigger person (sometimes) but almost never when it came to Freddie. It was taking its toll on her very soul. "I said. Not. Bad."

Freddie looked conflicted for a minute – Sam suspected it was because he both wanted to gloat and geek out over her admission. The latter won. "I KNOW! Isn't it the greatest? Did you know that they used to use real cannons during live performances? Sometimes they still do. You've probably heard it before, or a really watered down version, anyway, at Fourth of July festivals and in movies and stuff. It's interesting that it's used for a national holiday even though Tchaikovsky originally composed it as a nationalist piece for Russia. Ironic given the United States' history with them, huh?"

"If you shut up, you can have some yogurt and I'll let you put two toppings on it. You can even have some whipped cream."

Freddie paused. "I didn't know you guys sell whipped cream as a topping."

"We don't. It's my own stash, so be grateful and stop talking."

Freddie grinned. "Cool. So when do I get to take Otis for a spin?"

* * *

note: in case you're interested, the pieces are: claire de lune by debussy, sarabande by handel, 1812 overture by tchaikovsky


	9. walkingonadream

we are always running for the thrill of it, thrill of it

His former bravado, so outspoken the day of the bet, had all but abandoned him now that he was actually behind the wheel.

"Sam, I could kill us. I could kill everyone. Would you want that on your conscience? Think about it: the entire city of Seattle could be wiped out in just fifteen minutes." Freddie was babbling, he knew he was; he just couldn't force himself to stop talking.

"Freddie, shut up already, Christ," Sam swore, taking a swig of Peppy Cola before buckling her seat belt. "All right, look. Just keep your foot on the brakes and pull the gear stick into drive. Then slowly let your foot off the brake." They lunged forward. "What part of _slowly_ did you not understand?"

"You're making me nervous," Freddie said, voice shaking with what he firmly told himself were _not_ unshed tears. Sam made a move to turn on the radio, but he quickly slapped her hand away. "I'm having a hard time as it is and I really think we'd all benefit from some quiet time."

Sam narrowed her eyes at him, and if he wasn't already completely occupied with being behind the wheel of a motorized vehicle, he might have peed his pants. "I'm gonna pretend for your sake that you didn't just do that, since my patience is already completely gone."

Freddie exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel with white, clammy hands. "Sam, this lane is the ramp for the freeway. I can't change lanes! Sam, what do I do? I'm not ready for this. I can't do it. I can't do this."

"God, would you just relax? You're on the freeway. Other than being passed up by my dead grandma, you're doing fine." Sam was right. He was fine. He was alive, they were alive, and the people angrily honking behind him seemed to be alive. He pulled off the freeway after somehow managing to pass three exits and pulled into a gas station. He tried to pull the lever up to put the truck in park, but Sam had to reach over and yank it up for him. He blamed the stubborn gear stick on shoddy manufacturing and rusting.

He turned off the engine, leaving the interior of the truck quiet as the muffled sounds of passing traffic tried to force its way into the cabin. "That was..." Freddie didn't know what he was going to say or why he even started talking. He felt that he needed to say something, anything really.

"Hey." Sam punched his shoulder gently, causing him to flinch more than a regular Sam-punch would have. "You did good. Although you really need to work on your left turns, you don't hit the gas enough and that's why it takes so long for you to clear an intersection."

Freddie wasn't sure what to say to that. She'd complimented him, and her insult was more of a constructive criticism than a full-blown, soul-rending attack on his livelihood. He just covered her hand with his and smiled. "Thanks, Sam." They looked at each other for a few seconds, and Freddie's hand started to sweat. Blood rushed through his ears and he knew his face was probably beet red. Vaguely, in the furthest corners of his mind, he recognized the significance of Sam's hand still underneath his. Before he could fully process what exactly that meant, however, the hand in question delivered an extra powerful Sam-punch to his arm.

"Move it, loser. We're gonna be late to the movie, and I am not missing the first fifteen minutes of 'Lizardzilla vs. Robo-Rooster: Return of the Sewer Rats from Hell' just because you want to have a heart-to-heart about your shitty driving." Freddie unbuckled his seatbelt with resignation, scooting over to the passenger side while Sam climbed into the driver's seat.

* * *

"That was as epic I thought it would be," Sam sighed contentedly. Freddie noticed her adjust her seat so she was closer to the steering wheel and couldn't help the smirk that flitted across his face. After being tormented by Sam for three long years about his height, any reminder that he now had a solid four inches over Sam never failed to make him giddy.

"Personally, I think the director really didn't understand Lizardzilla and Robo-Rooster's long standing conflict. He didn't really capture the essence of why Lizardzilla and Robo-Rooster hate each other so much; that cheap backstory about a misunderstanding between them that suddenly made them mortal enemies? Give me a break, I've read fanfiction twenty times better than that."

Freddie felt Sam's glare on him and he struggled to keep a straight face; he knew she hated it when he overanalyzed movies and geeked out to her. "Y'know what, I don't feel like talking about the movie anymore." She turned on the radio. A twangy country song about beer and broken hearts filled the silence. Sam tapped her fingers to the beat and hummed along, which surprised Freddie. He didn't know she liked country music. Or any music, really.

"So, uh...talked to Carly lately?" He didn't know why he was talking, other than that he was filled with the powerful urge to make her smile.

"Mmhmm." Sam seemed content to let that be the end of it, but Freddie wasn't taking the bait.

"That's good. I haven't gotten to talk to her recently, but I Skyped with Gibby the other day."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. He's doing okay. It's so weird to think that he's on the complete opposite side of the country, isn't it? Like, sometimes I'll be doing homework and I'll glance at the clock and it's six o'clock and I'll panic because I think I'm late for rehearsal...do you ever do that?"

"Nope."

"Huh. I don't know, I guess I'm still not used to the idea of the four of us not spending every moment together. Maybe that's why we've been hanging out so often, because we –"

"Carly had sex." That shut him up real quick. Freddie didn't know what to say. Sam turned the radio up a few clicks, apparently glad that he'd finally stopped talking. Freddie wasn't sure what to say. Why'd she tell him that? The thought of Carly...having _sex_...and suddenly, even though he didn't even mean to, he pictured Carly lying on a bed, moaning and groaning and –

What he meant to say was "good for her," but what came out instead was "_heurk_?" He cleared his throat. "Uh, that's...cool, I mean, good, yeah, her boyfriend...seems nice..." He trailed off awkwardly.

Sam stopped singing. "That's it? Carly swipes her v-card and all you have to say are made up words and 'cool, her boyfriend's nice?' I thought you'd be, like, devastated or something."

Freddie bristled. "How come? Why wouldn't I be happy for Carly? She's my – one of my best friends."

"Yeah, a best friend that you had a crush on for like twelve years. Those feelings don't just disappear, moron."

They pulled in front of Freddie's building. Sam threw the truck into park. She looked angry. He was at a loss. "Sam, I haven't had those kind of feelings for Carly in a long time. I really am happy for her. It's just awkward because I've known her for such a long time." Sam gave him an indecipherable look. "You don't think it's weird? C'mon, remember when we were younger? And you wore capri pants and long-sleeved shirts everyday, and Carly wore polos all the time and Spencer had freakishly long hair. Gibby wasn't even there and I would always wear those huge boots because you and Carly were taller than me? You can't tell me that the thought of one of us being..._intimate_ with someone isn't weird."

Sam bit her lip and glanced out the window. "I guess so." She looked pensive, an expression Freddie wasn't used to seeing on the normally very loud, very action-oriented Sam Puckett. It was sort of, kind of...cute.

"Do you, um, want to come up and hang out? I have homework, but you can watch TV or something. We could order a pizza later."

"Your treat?" Freddie nodded. "I _do_ have a new issue of 'The Meat Critique' that's been calling my name for about a week now..." Sam shifted into drive, quickly cutting off a white Prius that was pulling into a special parking spot designated for electric cars. The Prius driver drove past them slowly, glaring daggers at Sam, who paid absolutely zero attention to the "tree hugging hipster bastards." Sam's words, not his. "Eh, all right. And don't think I'm forgetting about that pizza."


End file.
